The Fugitive
by Evenstar496
Summary: Hermione finds Remus a year or so after Voldemort has been defeated in a deadly war, but does he want to see her?


Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
Authors Notes: This was written for the "On a Full Moon." writing challenge on the Lunar_ChartsRLHG Yahoo!Group. It's a Remus-Hermione fansite. You should visit :) http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Lunar_ChartsRLHG/ If you like Remus-Hermione stories, check out my in-progress fic "Awaken Me" or "The Law of Grace" by Astraea on - it's just beginning, but it'll hook you!  
  
Please R/R  
  
TITLE: The Fugitive AUTHOR: Evenstar RATING: R - NC-17 SUMMARY: Hermione tracks down Remus a year or two after the war against Voldemort ends.  
  
Remus Lupin ambled through the dense, dark woods toward a small clearing in the distance. He moved without unease. The fast moving shadows and sudden noises of the forest didn't alarm him. The night, so mysterious and treacherous, failed to cause him anxiety or fear. He had long abandoned notions of evil monsters dancing in the gloom between the trees. He was, in fact, one of the monsters about whom most people worried. And he'd seen enough horror and gore and absolute malevolence to immunize him from fright -- for the most part, at least. He knew full well that the most insidious evil walked proudly in the golden gaze of the sun, operating openly, proceeding boldly through the public rather than huddling, hunch-backed, in shadowing covens. The worst beasts had most pleasant countenances and accommodating, gregarious personalities.  
  
He came to the end of the path and walked to the modest cottage in the midst of the clearing. Pushing the door open, he muttered "Lumos" and held his wand before him as he stepped inside his home.  
  
He froze with terror.  
  
There was a dead girl in his kitchen.  
  
His bag slipped from his hand and his wand clattered to the ground. He was numb with shock.  
  
She rose from one of the mismatched chairs surrounding his small breakfast table and offered him a sad, relieved smile. "Remus."  
  
The light of his wand, unstable in his shaking hand, illuminated her. The shadow she cast confirmed she was no ghost. She was whole and breathing and solid. Flesh and blood. Heat and heartbeat. And she was approaching him.  
  
Suddenly, a great and terrible surge of emotions, all conflicting, pounded his gut like a bullet ripping through his belly. His stomach lurched violently and he stumbled out through the door again, vomiting the scant contents of his stomach into the brittle, yellowed fall grass.  
  
Hermione rushed out of the cottage and came to a halt several yards away from him. He seemed quite fragile - his body bent over itself, wracked by heaving coughs - as he had when she first met him on the Hogwart's Express those many years ago. She watched him helplessly, fretful that she may have brought on this sudden sickness and uncertain how to alleviate his discomfort.  
  
After several moments, he stood, pausing with his back to her for several moments. His head was bowed as if in defeat and his fists contracted into tense balls of flesh that shook his entire body. He turned slowly, reluctantly, to Hermione and revealed an expression so twisted with revulsion that it rendered his soft features nearly unrecognizable. She saw more loathing and disgust in his eyes than Draco Malfoy had ever shot toward Harry Potter when they all attended school together.  
  
"Why are you here?" he asked in a menacingly even, low voice.  
  
She hesitated to answer. This was not the man she knew, the man who taught her and befriended her at school. This was not the man she fought alongside in the long, lethal battle against Voldemort. *He* was a compassionate, nurturing, kind man. This person before her now was void of warmth and familiarity. He was a monster.  
  
"I-I have no one," her voice wavered. "Everyone is dead - Harry, Ron, Dumbledore, Hagrid, Snape, Sirius.my parents."  
  
Her voice trailed off and she turned away from the hard face glaring at her. Discussing these personal losses with someone who scrutinized her with such venom felt like some kind of private violation.  
  
"I needed to find someone who understood, who had been a part of my life, my family at Hogwarts. Draco's never gotten over his father's betrayal and isn't keen on dredging up memories of the war. And McGonagal has never quite recovered from the Imperius. She still can't speak well. I thought if there was any chance you were still alive, we could comfort each other. I hoped you could help me find some peace - at least start me on the path toward closure."  
  
He stared at her with piercing, hateful eyes for what seemed like an eternity. She thought she could feel the rage radiate from his pupils and bore two tiny holes through her head. Suddenly, his face contorted into some perversion of a smile and he issued a cold laugh, still regarding her with repulsion.  
  
"And you've come to *me* for sympathy?" he said with cruel amusement. "Listen, child, I've been alone my entire life. All the friends I made, I lost. You may have lived through this once and it may have been atrocious, but *I* lived through it twice. And by the time it was all over, every bit of joy in my life had been wrenched from me in the worst way possible. You had eleven years of an ordinary, typical childhood before you came to Hogwarts and got caught up in Harry's troubles - and you *chose* to entangle yourself in his troubles. I, on the other hand, lost all possibility for any kind of normal, happy life before I was old enough to understand the concept of choice."  
  
His voice rose gradually until he was practically screaming at her. She winced and cowered away from him.  
  
"I-I-I'm sorry," she whispered, on the verge of tears.  
  
"Good! Don't bother me with your trivial, girlish concerns. I've enough to worry about without you raining your miseries upon me."  
  
His voice dripped with derision and echoed bitterly in Hermione's head. She regained her bearings and watched him with increasing contempt, until she too was in the grips of rage.  
  
"No," she said clearly, calmly, loudly. "No, I'm not sorry. I thought we were friends. I thought you cared. I had every reason to believe you would be glad to see me -- that you would welcome me into your home and mourn the past with me. What the hell has happened to you, Remus? I don't even recognize you anymore. You're like some kind of sick distortion of the man I knew. Man. He was a man, Remus. You? I don't even think you're human."  
  
She swiftly turned on her heels, fully intending to collect her things and leave. She was eager to forget the entire episode had ever taken place. Remus, however, was not yet through with his tirade. He caught her by the wrist and harshly jerked her back to him. She squirmed uselessly in his grasp, his fingers only tightening around her wrist until her eyes watered in pain and his knuckles were white with strain. They stared each other down fiercely, like two hungering wolves jockeying for a fat carcass.  
  
"You don't know me," he spat, moving his face close to her hers. "You *never* knew me. You never will. I've experienced things that would straighten your bushy head of hair. Every day, for as long as I can remember, I woke up with my burdens already crushing me - bearing down so hard on my chest, I could hardly breathe. But I did what I was told to do. I got out of bed. I faced the world. I was ridiculed and misunderstood and hated and shunned, but I still did what they told me to do. And I thought I'd been rewarded for all that misery when I arrived at Hogwarts. I found a family - my friends, the professors, Dumbledore. And he - whatever sick, bastard god exists - he even let me believe it could last.  
  
"I did what I was told. I studied avidly. I made high marks. I was a decent person. When I stepped out of line, I felt guilty. As the world grew darker, I eagerly fought beside my friends in the name of decency and honor. And after all that, my reward - *my life* - was wrested from my arms unwillingly. I screamed and wrestled and clawed at the fates with every ounce of effort I had. I was desperate to keep a hold of the happiness I'd found. But I couldn't. What did I do then? Like a fool, I kept doing what I was supposed to, even though I had nowhere to live. No family or friends. No job. No stability. No life.  
  
"Then the clouds broke again and I came back to Hogwarts to teach. And I met Harry, who was so much like James it made me weep sometimes. And Ron, who often reminded me of Sirius, and you, in whom I saw.myself. I was able to share my love of learning with all you kids. And you all liked me - you all raved about me. I was reunited with Sirius and my good faith in him was restored. And even though I had to leave, I had a family again, so life was really worth living. I knew somewhere there were people who loved me and cared about me even if I couldn't physically be with them. And again, I went to war with my friends and I did so gladly because I was fighting together with my family. We were fighting for what was right and, dammit, we were going to win! And we did, Hermione. We did.  
  
"But *I* lost. I lost too much this time. I lost everything. And that pain and rage was so impossible to bear that I had to kill it all - all the memories, all the names, all the faces - and make a new life that had nothing at all to do with the old one. So I'm able to get out of bed in the morning. I don't cry myself to sleep every night, aching with a pain I'm certain will consume me. I don't wish for death every second of every day - an end to my suffering. And just as I think I've put the past to rest, you appear in my house and think you're going to insinuate yourself into my life again. I'm telling you, girl, you're the *last* fucking person I want to see."  
  
Hermione choked back the tears she felt rising in her throat, unwilling to be intimidated, and chuckled bitterly.  
  
"How could I have been so intelligent yet so ignorant for so long? You're just a coward! All this time I've been convinced you were someone to respect and admire and you're really just a complete phony. You spit on all the good Sirius and Harry and Ron and Dumbledore ever accomplished when you make believe they didn't exist. You kill them everyday, over and over, and in the worst way. Dead in the mind means dead in the heart. And dead in the heart is worse than hate. It's apathy.  
  
"I wake up every morning and fight this battle, too. It's a fate I wish I could have avoided. The people I loved most are gone and I'm left to try to endure in the wake of it all. I think of them everyday. It's reflex. And if there comes a day when I don't automatically reflect on them them, I'll pull out my photo books and I'll study every last picture down to the tiniest detail and remember the joy my friends brought me. These were the best, bravest, wisest, truest people I ever met and it's my responsibility to make sure they're never forgotten. All that's left of them now are the memories, and through them, I intend to make sure all of my friends live on as vividly and dynamically as if they had survived the war.  
  
"I don't care if it hurts. I don't care if sometimes the pain is so intense I can't do a thing but lock myself away and weep. There are people in this world - and out of it - who are more important than me. I am not the center of my world. I don't want to be. Life is so much sweeter from within the arms of loved ones than standing alone in some self-imposed spotlight. I want to hurt, dammit! I want to hurt like hell! Not continually, but enough, because - I'm not sure if anybody taught you this - love is meant to wound. It's supposed to leave scars. The pain betters you, makes you a stronger, richer person. If you aren't willing to hurt for someone, you never really loved them - not truly. In fact, I'm starting to think - and it breaks my heart to even consider it - that *you* never loved any of them."  
  
Remus' palm struck Hermione's cheek with a sharp, resounding crack. She staggered backwards from the impact of the blow and stared wide-eyed at Remus. The force of the blow had knocked a stream of tears from Hermione's eyes. They streaked down her face as she slowly lifted her hand to the red, hand-shaped mark that he'd left behind. Clearly dazed, she moved her fingers over it with seeming incomprehension as Remus stood frozen before her. She backed up slowly, stumbling a bit as she went and then turned and sped into the house with a sob. He went after her.  
  
As he entered the cottage she was gathering her things. He closed the door and braced himself in front of it. She approached, unwilling to meet his eyes, and tried to reach past him to the knob. He wouldn't let her pass.  
  
"You're not going anywhere until I know you're never coming back," he growled. He was stalling, though he wouldn't admit that to himself. He didn't want her to leave.  
  
Hermione stared at him defiantly, tight-lipped and irate.  
  
"Don't worry," she spat. "I wouldn't return if I knew you were about to take your last breath."  
  
A wounded looked passed fleetingly over his eyes, quickly replaced by the glint of hatred.  
  
"I've been dead for a long time," Remus replied in an odd tone. "As far as I'm concerned, Remus Lupin no longer exists. He was a miserable, lame excuse for a man anyway. I don't care to be reminded of him and his sorry existence by little ninnies who harbored schoolgirl affections for him."  
  
Hermione threw her bags to the floor furiously, raising her hands to beat and scratch at him. Remus, however, had sharp reflexes and grasped her wrists before she could make any contact. Hands immobilized, she hammered her feet into his shins and struggled against his powerful hold.  
  
"You're a damn bastard," she yelled. "How dare you disrespect me - us - like that. Fuck you. FUCK YOU!!!! What was it all about then? Calling me to your office for all those after-hour rendezvous? What about the kisses? The sex? You were always going on about how much you loved me.how badly you needed me."  
  
"That's what middle-aged men say when they want to get into a pretty girls' panties," he said, the corners of his mouth curling wickedly. "There was no *us*."  
  
Hermione's eyes went wide with rage. With one swift thrust she kneed him in the crotch and ran to the other room, rushing to close and lock the door. She could take no more of his cruelty. It made her feel as if she was watching her life die all over again.  
  
Though Hermione's means of escape pained Remus, his anger stung greater. In just a few long strides he was at his bedroom door, pushing it aside despite Hermione's attempts to hold him back. He approached her with a menacing look on his face.  
  
"You know, Hermione," he said slowly, "I thought you were dead. When all was done and Voldemort had been vanquished, you were unconscious amongst the others I knew had been killed. I was devastated. I had to leave that place, that life, those memories if I wanted to survive. And now you come to me, not when I needed you - there among the corpses and charred remains - but when I was at peace having forgotten you or anyone else I cared about then had ever existed."  
  
"It's your own fault then," Hermione yelled, her voice beginning to tremble. "You should have stayed. You should have made certain I was dead before you ran away like a coward. If you'd cared about me you wouldn't even have left my side."  
  
"Well, there you go," he said, coolly.  
  
"It's a pity we couldn't go back and swap your life for Harry's or Ron's or Sirius'. They deserve to be alive. You don't."  
  
Remus' expression flickered from stung to furious. Realizing that, he quickly came at her, raging.  
  
He slammed her against the wall, his entire body shaking with rage, his face taut with concentration. Hermione cowered slightly, flinching nervously in anticipation of his next move. She could not have, however, prepared herself for the strange turn of Remus' actions. He came at her with an angry, unhinged passion, smashing his lips to hers with all the force he'd spewed at her verbally. She squeaked meekly and gave herself over to the impulses that compelled her to find Remus in the first place. They sought each other violently, with kisses that pummeled, physically and emotionally. Though their lips grew sore and bruised, their physical pursuit was relentless. Their kisses nearly smothered, but neither needed to breathe anyway. Feeling the warm, soft lips of the other resuscitated a part of their bodies that had been suffocating and fading for years. His tongue thrust past her lips, searching her mouth impatiently and aggressively engaged her tongue in a challenge of wills, twisting, flicking, and sparring with needy vehemence.  
  
Dipping slightly, but not relinquishing possession of her mouth, he gathered her in his arms, and moved hastily to his bed, lowering her atop the sheets and moving over her with dexterity.  
  
"All this time. Running away from them. From you. I'm not sure if I've saved my life or strangled it. I need you Hermione. I need you more than I've ever needed anything," he whispered breathlessly, his face hovering close to hers.  
  
"Remus, I need you too. Why do you think I went looking for you in the first place? You were the only one. You're still the only one. You're home for me."  
  
A dual flash of love and terror passed over his face and he gently stroked her cheek. It was the tenderest gesture he'd exhibited all night. She framed his flushed face in her hands and drew his mouth to hers again, caressing him with kisses so certain and unyielding his fears were swept away in the surge of emotion that followed. Remus and Hermione rolled over the bed in each others arms, their limbs tangling and lips clinging. They shed their clothes in fitful bursts and lay utterly exposed to one another. Her body was as young and slim as his memory had captured it, gentle curves and soft skin still breathtaking beneath his hands. She now bore the marks of the war, jagged scars and marred flesh. It both sickened and aroused him to look at them. He worked his mouth over her skin, hot kisses trailing down her neck, over her breasts, across her belly. His ministrations were frantic, like those of a starving man gorging himself on an unexpected feast for fear that it might suddenly disappear. He laved her wounds fervently, as if trying to lick away the horrors they invoked on both her flesh and her mind. She studied him as he moved, the strong, lean lines of his body flexing and arching against her, the hot flesh burning beneath her hands. She fingered the multitude of scars scattered over his back and arms and neck, wondering if he still remembered where each one originated or if the specifics has swirled into one huge scar upon his soul.  
  
In short order, they were making love, their bodies rocking together wildly. It was raw and frantic and desperate, both sad and beautiful all at once. Their bodies gleamed with sweat and saliva and sex, as they groped one another greedily. All restrain had died away. Both were panting, groaning loudly, growling with unbearable yearning. Hermione fisted her hands in Remus' hair and held him against her compulsively. Remus, meanwhile, clutched at Hermione's bottom, driving himself as far into her snug grasp as her womb would allow. The thought of being buried deep, deep inside her body thrilled and comforted him. He felt safe within her. She, too, was mad to have him fill her as fully as possible, bucking her hips in time with his thrusts. Being with him like this made her feel complete and alive in ways that died with her friends in the war.  
  
Climax struck like explosive release. They moaned and called out for each other, bodies seizing and quaking with unrestrained pleasure and relief. Remus began to weep, convulsing against Hermione with a misery long borne and repressed. She held him as their bodies calmed. His tears fell upon her neck and shoulders, showering her in what felt like a baptism. To have him so near, to wrap her arms around him and feel him still inside her satisfied a seemingly bottomless, aching longing within her. She felt as if she was awakening from a long, terrible nightmare.  
  
When Remus' tears tapered off, they kissed for awhile, lingering upon lips and flesh with unhurried affection. Then they crawled under the covers. Their encounter - the passion, the sex, the tears - went unaddressed. Hermione fell asleep with her head on Remus' shoulder, his arms around her possessively. The last thing she remembered that night was the feeling of Remus's lips gently pressing onto the top of her head.  
  
Hermione awoke late the next morning. She yawned and stretched indulgently, her mind slowly recalling how she wound up in the strange bed. She smiled lazily, and turned to snuggle close to Remus. They would have a snog, maybe a drowsy shag. But the bed was empty beside her. There was a small note on the pillow, reading "Breakfast in the kitchen." She smiled serenely and noted the smell of bacon drifting in from the kitchen. She climbed out of bed and was immediately chilly. Disinclined to get completely dressed again, she went to Remus' closet to slip into one of his shirts. But his closet was empty. She pulled open the drawers to his dresser. They, too, were empty. Confused and alarmed, but trying desperately to be calm, she went to the kitchen.  
  
No one was there, though a lone plate of breakfast had been left at the table. She moved closer, inspecting the scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast still warm and awaiting her, and noticed yet another note beside the plate:  
  
"I'll always love you, even if I can't."  
  
Hermione knew she'd never see him again. . 


End file.
